to make what’s happened to the Alaska Pipeline look like spilled milk. How are you coming with those SEALs?”
“I haven’t even started yet. I can’t just order them up like eggs, for Christ’s sake.”
“Don’t get bureaucratic on me. Get hold of Admiral Morrison and tell him you need those men. Lean on the President if you have to — he owes you enough favors.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Henna replied, suddenly catching on to the urgency of the situation.
“We’re probably going to have to launch our assault on the tanker from Victoria. You’ll have to clear this with the Canadian government. I know that they’re our neighbors and all, but they get real touchy about sovereignty issues like this.”
“I’ve already thought about that. You and I need to stay in touch. You’re closest to what’s going on. Are you going to be near this phone for the duration?”
“No, I’m going down to Puget Sound. It’s about a five-hour flight from here, but if I’m to coordinate this, I need to be right on top of it. As soon as I’ve got communications set up, I’ll get back to you.”
“All right,” Henna agreed. “Is this the last we’re going to hear from Kerikov?”
“I wish to God I could say yes, but I doubt it.” Mercer cut Henna off, then dialed Captain Hauser. “Captain, this is Philip Mercer. Have you made arrangements to get to Seattle yet?”
“Yes, I’ve hired a floatplane. The pilot says he can get me there in about two hours.”
“Good. But you’ve got to change your destination to the city of Victoria. That’s where the terrorists will have a boat ready to take them off the ship.”
“Are you sure?”
“SC amp;L has a jet on standby in Vancouver to take their people back to Louisiana. Once they scuttle the tanker, they’ll want to clear out of the region as fast as possible. I’m looking at the map on the wall in front of me, and the quickest way is a boat from the
Hauser couldn’t fault Mercer’s logic. “Okay, then what?”
“I’m leaving Valdez in a minute, but you’ll get to Victoria about three hours before I do. Wait in the airport’s main terminal. I’ll have you paged when I’ve got more for you.” Even as Mercer was talking with Hauser, he mouthed to one of the office workers to go and get Andy Lindstrom. “I’ve already alerted the director of the FBI about what’s happened so far. Wheels are in motion, Captain. Don’t worry. They won’t hurt your ship if I can do anything about it.”
“Mr. Mercer, it’s not the ship I care about. It’s Puget Sound.”
Aggie grabbed Mercer’s wrist as he was about to dial again. “What are you doing? You can’t go to Vancouver.”
“Aggie, I’ve got to,” he said, knowing that she wouldn’t understand.
“You’re dead on your feet. You’ve done enough already. Let someone else handle this.”
“Don’t you think I want to? But this is who and what I am; this is what I’ve always done. When people say, ‘Let someone else do it,’ Aggie, I’m that someone else.”
“The world isn’t your responsibility,” she snorted.
“You’re right, but that little part I can do something about is.” More than anything in his life, Mercer wanted to walk away from this mess, go someplace far away with Aggie and forget everything. For an instant, he wished he was one of those people who blindly hoped that there were others to fix all those things wrong with our world. He spoke with a tired resignation. “Aggie, I have to go and take care of this, see it through to whatever end there may be.”
She loved him for his dedication but realized that no matter how much that love might one day be reciprocated, he could never be there for her. There would always be something else in his life, some challenge or crisis that would lure him away the way other men were lured away by affairs. Though she wasn’t the type of woman who wanted to possess the man in her life, she knew she wanted more than Philip Mercer could give. And if he became what she wanted, the change would mean he would no longer be the man she had fallen in love with. It was a Catch-22 whose only resolution was to end it now before she became more hurt than she was at this moment. The very thought of stopping their relationship before it even began created a void in her chest, a physical ache that felt as though it could never be filled.
“I understand,” she lied.
“When this is over, I want to… I mean if you and I…” He stammered to silence. “I think you know what I mean. I’ll get in touch with you.”
“Of course,” she said, her emotions in such a turmoil that she couldn’t look him in the eye. But she steeled herself, and when she looked up to tell Mercer that she did not want to see him again, he was gone.
Mercer met Andy Lindstrom just outside of the Operations Director’s office. Without preamble he said, “I need a jet to get me to Victoria, British Columbia, as fast as possible.”
“What’s happened?”
“As I figure it, Kerikov planned to destroy the pipeline and then have some more of his people scuttle a supertanker off the coast of San Francisco. The tanker’s captain sabotaged the vessel so she couldn’t make it that far south. The terrorists are now poised to sink her in Puget Sound. This is Kerikov’s second front. All along, his intentions have been to stop the flow of oil from Prudhoe Bay and then make it impossible to transport it along the West Coast. Following the
Andy nodded. “But what’s the final result? I mean, what is he after?”
“Was after. Kerikov’s dead, but I have no clue what he wanted to accomplish,” Mercer admitted. “For now, all we can do is head off his tactical attacks and hope the final strategy becomes clear when we’re successful. Do you have a plane?”
“Yeah, sure. And you’re in luck. It’s here in Valdez. Alyeska usually keeps it in Anchorage.”
“Call the airport and tell them to get ready for a flight to Victoria International Airport at the best possible speed. Tell them to pick up some food for me too. I haven’t eaten in God knows how long.” He turned to go.
“What’s your plan?”
At the doorway, Mercer glanced at Lindstrom. “As soon as I make one up, you’ll be the first to know.”
Thirty minutes later, Alyeska’s corporate jet, a recently purchased Citation, hurled itself off the runway and turned south for the journey to the greater Seattle/Vancouver area. While heading for the airport, Mercer had managed to grab a change of clothes from his hotel and pack a small bag for himself, including Ivan Kerikov’s pistol. Not knowing how long he would be gone, he’d told the hotel to store the rest of his belongings and check him out of the room. Someone at Alyeska could take care of his rented Blazer.
Pressed back in the supple leather seat of the aircraft, Mercer worked at something Andy Lindstrom had asked him, something about Kerikov’s final outcome. What could be so big that the Russian would consider destroying the Trans-Alaska Pipeline and sinking a tanker as nothing more than mild diversions. There was something he was after, something related to oil obviously, but something that would require America to stop using her own resources.
The answer was so evident he cursed himself for not realizing it sooner. He put it off to his own exhaustion and reached for the phone, checking his watch to see what number he should call. It was eleven in the morning Alaska time, which made it just four in the afternoon in Washington, D.C. Taking a quick gamble he dialed his home number and was about to give up after three rings.
“Hello.” Harry White sounded as though his vocal cords had been filed raw with sandpaper.
“What the hell are you doing at my place, drinking my booze, when you just stole a couple of cases from the Willard Hotel?”
“Tiny was charging me four bucks for a glass of ginger ale. Besides, your pretzels are fresher.”
“I hope you’ve got a huge life insurance policy and I’m the beneficiary, you old bastard.”
“Funny, I think the same about you,” Harry replied.
“Are you on the portable phone?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Go down to my office. I need you to do something for me.” Mercer remembered Dave Saulman saying
